Simulacrum of Zero
by Darridus
Summary: All Louise wanted was a familiar, any familiar. It could've been a frog, an ant, or a rabbit. But she wanted a familiar that would prove she wasn't just a zero...now, she may have gotten more than she bargained for, when she summons the deadliest mage who ever lived, on Nirn or beyond. Rated M for strong language and my usual tendency towards graphic violence.
1. Chapter 1 : The Eternal Ordeal

Flame. Frost. Shock. Bolts of lightning and tongues of fire flew like flew like arrows in a cascade of light. Ice sprang forth, and dissipated into the void. But the air did not grow cold. He didn't even know if there was any air in here. Just as the elemental forces of nature had proven impotent, time also lost it's hold in this place. He had no idea how long he'd been here. It could've been a few days... a month, a year. Maybe even a hundred years.

Such was the nature of his imprisonment. The powers still flew out in every direction. Desperation fueled their caster, but weariness always took him sooner or later. He would have bouts like this all the time. When some inspirational or thought struck him, or if he just got bored, he'd start blasting and freezing and casting away. But it still never did him any good. Eventually he would grow tired, his energies spent. Sleep never took him, much to his dismay. He never thought there would be a time when he would miss sleep. So much time wasted, perhaps a third of his whole life, lost forever. Perhaps if he had never needed sleep he wouldn't even be here now, but whatever the reasons...he found himself missing sleep. But it was forever denied to him, here.

Ironic, that he had been allowed to retain his power...in its condensed form. In his hands was the instrument of both his salvation, and his ruin. If only he had done more. If he could have prepared...plotted, been more careful. _This_ could have been avoided. He held the staff of Chaos in his right hand. The staff that had stolen an empire, opened portals to Oblivion, and finally used against him to deadly effect. He died in disgrace, deep in the dungeons of White-Gold Tower. The Jewel of Fire still glowed it's ethereal green, and it was his sole comfort. Aside from his spells, it was the only constant source of light in his accursed prison. It was beautiful...condensed power, his very soul. It provided him with great power, even here. Just...not enough to escape from the void.

He still remembered that day when he first came here, as if it had only been yesterday. Perhaps it _had_ been only yesterday. Time was a fickle thing here...but he didn't think it had only been a single day. If so...well. It would be a long eternity down here. But the day he had come here was burned into his head. He remembered it like...like it was still happening. He remembered being cut down by that damned interloper...Septim's "Eternal Champion". That man, in his steel armor and helm. He had heard many tales of his deeds, of course, but he only ever saw the suit of armor. Never the man beneath. For a single moment of humor, he entertained the thought that perhaps it had been a _woman_. That would be just his luck. Ruined by a woman, again.

Only this time, it had really killed him. He remembered the flash of light at the end. His eyes had fallen closed after he had been cut in twain by the Champion's cold, cold blade. His Jewel of Fire broken and smashed on the filthy stone of the Imperial Dungeons. The light from the world faded until everything was dark, as if he had fallen asleep. And then...an explosion of light. It lit his vision like the aurora of Skyrim's night skies. And then, he saw _him_ standing there. that damned Aedra. A curse on him... A curse on _Arkay_.

"So...we finally meet." The Aedra said. He looked just like his depictions in the temple, with flowing robes of crimson red and a golden beard. His expression matched as well, as he passed down his judgement with the resolve of cold steel. "I have long forseen this day. You have chosen your path, you insolent child. To imprison an emperor into the realm of Oblivion...to conspire with the vile Daedra, and even Mehrunes Dagon himself! You have earned your fate, boy. So I cast you out of here! There shall be no rest here for you in Aetherius! I shall cast you into the void between voids. You shall not remain in Aetherius, but nor shall you be allowed passage into Oblivion. An eternity of the abyss is all that awaits you...so heed these words, for they shall be the last you ever hear, accursed child."

And that had been that. Arkay raised his staff, and the disembodied spirit was _sent_. It had appeared as a flash of blinding light not unlike the way Arkay had appeared, and he was gone. Again he was in darkness. But now...he had a body now. He could feel his hands, his feet. He thought for a moment that perhaps he was alive again, but then Arkay's words hit home.

The void between the voids. Neither Aedra nor Daedra would venture here. He was...well and truly stranded now. There would be no escape, all because of some vindictive Aedra who found him to be lacking. He hadn't even the good grace to send him on to Oblivion. He would have taken anything except this hellish abyss of emptiness. He would have liked Aprocrypha. Endless knowledge and tomes to delve through in peace, with no one to disturb his studies. It had fascinated him as a student, but he never discussed it of course. Daedra Worship was even more taboo in High Rock than in the rest of Tamriel. But he would have taken _any_ place but here. The Deadlands, Coldharbour, even...The Shivering Isles. Even the home of Sheogorath, that pompous buffoon he hated would be superior to this wretched existence.

He was tired once more. He breathed heavily, and blinked. The only difference between closed eyes and open vision was the visibility of his limbs. He had no idea if his appearance had changed at all...there was not a mirror here. His Magicka was depleted for only a few moments, but recharged to it's normal capacity soon enough. Or maybe it took days, or weeks to recharge. Time had no meaning here. With a flick of his wrist, he almost lazily cast a firebolt over his shoulder, not even bothering to watch it fade into the distance without casting light on even a single wall.

But it didn't. Instead, his eyes widened as it hit something behind him. He inhaled a sharp breath. Could it be...? He dared not hope. He turned around slowly, taking great care to control himself. Whatever this was...he doubted there would be a second chance. He turned, and saw an amazing sight. Standing out in the darkness was shining rune of some kind. It was a simple pentagram, inlaid with smaller runes within and outer reach echoing the points of the star. To him it was the most beautiful sight imaginable.

But...he had never seen such a rune before. Never, in all his days as a mage-priest, battlemage, or even Emperor had he seen any of it's like. He reached out...but stopped himself in a moment of clarity. Runes could have different functions, but they generally activated upon physical contact. And he had no idea what it did. Then again...did it truly matter. Death could not take him, here. Even with his body, where would he go? Even if it exploded in his face, anything was better than _this_. Half-mad from death and boredom, trapped forever in between the ethereal planes...

Coming to a decision, he tentatively touched the center pentagon of the rune, where the star originated from. The intensity of it's light grew and grew, and flashed with eldritch power. He could feel himself being ripped apart...and away. So he had divined it's purpose. If he had a mouth again, he would smile a smile happier than he ever had in his lifetime. He was going somewhere now, leaving this horrible place. Wherever he was going, he would be happy. He knew this. And finally, after being trapped for what seemed like an eternity, or perhaps only a day, he _remembered_. Arkay's final insult was stripped away, and he could finally remember what he had lost. Remember what Arkay had _taken_ from him. His name was Jagar Tharn. And now his journey on the winds of magic continues, Aedra be damned.


	2. Chapter 2 : The Ritual

It was a beautiful morning. The skies cloudless and perfectly blue. Standing tall and proud over the horizon was the Tristain Academy of Magic, where the sons and daughters of powerful aristocrats attended classes to master the arcane arts. It was crafted from the finest stone, with marble columns to support a roof shingled by the most skilled artisans of the day. The glass of every window was flawless, with ornamental framed ironwork. The whole of the place was built in ages long past, by master wizards of earth, water and wind.

But today was the long-awaited day for the attendants of Tristain's premier institution of magic. Each year, on the first day of the winter solstice, students would gather for their final rite of passage into magecraft. Each prospective mage was to summon a familiar to them from the ethereal planes of magic, in order to do their bidding and aid them in times of war. Louise Francoise Le Blanc de La Valliere was one of these students...but she had a problem.

Louise had never once cast successful spell. Try as she did, every attempt led to spectacular failure. Her mother, a harsh woman set in her ways, was determined to make her into a fine mage to carry on the family name. She had tried everything. Private tutors, healers, some of the finest mages in Halkegenia had come to teach her. But all was for not. Every single attempt had begotten only failure, and her mother eventually sent away her teachers. She simply sent Louise away to the academy of magic, to await this day specifically.

If a mage could not summon a familiar during his or her ritual, it was determined that the only suitable explanation was some fault that God had found with them. Such instances led to scruntiny by the Church and His Holiness, not to mention the shame brought upon the face of the family. Louise didn't know what her mother would do if she failed today...but she had few theories. None ended with her return to her sisters...or her home.

Which was why, as she waited for her name to be called, she prayed to Brimir as she never prayed before. _Please..._ she wordlessly pleaded, _Don't let me fail today. Don't let me shame my family...I don't want to stay... I don't want to be a Zero forever... _

She opened her eyes from her reverie, and saw that Montmorency de Montmorency had just concluded her own ritual successfully. All the students stood a respectful distance from the clear ground emplaced for the creation of a summoning circle, so Louise could see that Montmorency held a tiny orange frog in her hands. Perhaps not an astounding familiar, but Louise would have accepted even the smallest, tiniest animal in existence. All she wanted was a familiar. Not a dragon, griffon, or unicorn. She would be overjoyed to accept even a tiny mouse, like headmaster Osmond had. Then, she could at least rest at ease that she was in no danger of being cast out from the arisotcracy of Tristain.

"Very good, Montmorency!" The instructor, Jean Colbert congratulated the pleased mage in-training. "It looks like you're a water mage, then." Montmorency nodded, satisfied that she had been met with moderate sucess. Everyone knew that most people wouldn't get very impress creatures. Only the really lucky ones got anything spectacular. Tabitha, for instance, recieved a Dragon from Brimir. Perhaps in reward for her studious and diligent nature. She named her familiar Sylphid.

"Next, Louise de la Valliere!" Proffesor Colbert called out. _Oh no_, she thought, _what if it doesn't work...what if it explodes like everything else...? I can't do this, I...No. I have to. If I ever want to see Cattleya again. And...Princess Henrietta. What'll she think of me if I don't do this. Yes. I'll do it. I'll show everyone here I'm not a Zero!" _

So she made her way to the circle, amidst snickers and jeers from her so-called peers. "I wonder if she can manage?"

"I'm curious to see what _she'll_ summon...if anything!"

"She'll probably just screw up again..."

But she ignored all of them. Right now, she had to protect her honor and that of her family. One way or another, it was time to swim...or sink.

She gulped, and took a deep breath. Closing her eyes, she raised her wand in perfect style, learned from brutally long hours of practice. There was no room for error, here. The summoning was a sacred ritual that could only be performed once.

"M..." She cursed her stammer, and bit out the creed with forced bravado to break through the butterflies in her stomach and the weakness of her legs. "My name is Louise Francoise Le Blanc De La Valliere!" She hollered into the silence. This was a sacred ritual, after all. No one would risk the wrath of God and Brimir to interrupt it. "Pentagon of the Five Elemental Powers..." _Please work, Please work, Please work..._ "Heed my summoning, and bring forth my familiar!"

_Zap...KTHHOOOOMM!_

A bolt of lightning had come from nowhere, without a cloud in the sky. _Could it be...?_ she dared to hope. Could she really have succeeded. The suspense was killing her as she waited for the smoke to clear.

As it billowed into the air and dispersed a little, she saw that the ground had been blackened, as if burnt to a crisp by a fireball. Now, everyone stood in utter awe and silence with wide eyes and bated breath, as the smoke gave way to reveal a figure cloaked in shadow. But what they all saw was the glowing light that emanated from the crystal staff he carried in his right arm, and the eerie red eyes just barely visible beneath his hood.

* * *

"Ah hurk huh...ahuh..." Jagar Tharn coughed into this left fist as his lungs took in too much smoke. He couldn't believe what was happening...Smoke. Smoke meant fire...and he was choking on it. He needed air again...For the longest time he had been a mere spirit, a ghost. Now, he finally had it. A body. A mortal body to call his own once more. His coughing subsided and he grinned. _Yes...I can feel it. The old power still courses through my veins. And I have...The Staff! I still have the staff! Yes! Damn you, Arkay, I have triumphed! I live once more! _

As the smoke cleared enough to see through, he could make out figures surrounding him in a circle. _What's this? He asked himself. A trap of some sort? No...it must be...a summoning circle_.

He grinned another toothy grin. It all made sense now. These fools must have heard of his power...and pooled their meager strength together to summon him from the void. Perhaps Arkay had fallen out of favor with his worshippers...his banishment weakened. Yes...that made perfect sense.

And then he noticed her. A little girl, with _absurd_ pink hair stood directly in front of him. He frowned for the first time upon his return to Mundus. She could not possibly be their _leader_, could she? She looked to be no older than fourteen, by his reckoning. Over a decade younger than his youngest apprentice, Ria Silmane. Perhaps she will prove to be equally annoying... he thought drably.

Now that they could all see him properly, the silence gave way to a stream of chatter. Now that he saw them all, he could see that they were of an age to the pink-girl in front of him. "What is this...?" he said to himself under his breath. Behind them, though, his sharp eyes detected a man of significantly more advanced years. A senior wizard, perhaps? But the only arrangement he could think of that matched this splitting of years would be..._No_. He thought. _No matter how far that damned Aedra has fallen, Arkay's spell could not _possibly_ be broken by novice schoolchildren..._

And yet, here they were. They spoke in a dialect of Breton that he remembered from his youth in High Rock. It was a language spoken only in secret societies, or as code for informers and spies. Perhaps these were the children of some syndicate of powerful wizards, whose parents had access to a _partial_ history of his exploits and wanted a master for their children like no other. Well...he would certainly deliver on that _particular_ point.

"Hey you!" he was brought out of his musings by the pink girl, who had the _gall _to look down her nose at him. _Great. Just what I need. A spoiled High Rock brat as soon as I come back to Nirn... doesn't she at least have _some_ idea as to who I am?_

"Who are you?!" she demanded. Well. That answered that question. She looked at him angrily, with hands on her hips. He would have been amused under different circumstances. Imagine him, Imperial Battlemage and breif Emperor of Tamriel being talked down to by a _little girl_. "You...you look like a mage? But why did I get you...I was supposed to summon a familiar..." She seemed to experience some trepidation now. He had yet to say anything, but he watched as the older Breton came over and into the circlular patch of dirt he and the girl stood in the center of. The chattering had now fallen to a soft whisper among the children as they eyed him curiously. "Is he a vampire? he has eyes the color of blood..." he heard one of the children say. He internally scoffed. Oh, if only they knew...

"Well, miss Valliere. It would appear that you summoned a familar successfully." Said the elder Breton with a raised eyebrow. He had a balding head with brown hair crowning the sides. Jagar raised a lavender eyebrow at that. So...she had intended to conjure a mere familiar...and ended up with him.

...

"Ahaha ha ha ha!" He couldn't help it. The idea was just too absurd to not laugh at. Attempting the most basic conjuration spell possible...and actually managing to summon him from the Void Between Voids. The idea was ludicrous in the extreme. Whoever this girl was...she was either very talented, or very unlucky. Likely both.

"Listen girl...and Listen well." He intoned as his laughter subsided. Now was the time to make an impression on these ridiculous little brats as to who they were dealing with. He would revel in their terror when they discovered his identity. Laugh at their pleas for mercy.

"I am no _mere_ familiar...know that you stand in the presence of I...the great and powerful _Jagar Tharn_!"

Silence, for a moment. And then the little pink-girl...scratched the side of her head? _What?_

"Never heard of you." She said. _What?_

Jagar Tharn grit his teeth and narrowed his eyes. How long could he have been gone? For High Rock to have forgotten their most reviled son, the "traitor" Jagar Tharn, it must have been decades at the absolute least. He pondered that for a moment. Yes...it would definitely take that long for Arkay to have weakened to such a point that a mere _novice_ could summon him, whatever the magicka they had.

"Anyways..." intruded the elder Breton, "Please continue the ritual. It may be uncommon to summon a humanoid creature as a familiar...but not _unheard of_. continue." He waved her on. Jagar raised an eyebrow. What more was there to do? He was here, and summoned. Unless..._No!_

"Pentagon of the Five Elemental Powers! Grant your blessings upon this creature, and _bind it as my familiar!" _

Before Jagar could think of a ward to cast, the girl was upon him. Cursing every god he knew, he did his best to throw her off. He was not an invalid, but...he had never really been the physical type. And without the benefit of the enchantments he had constantly had active over the course of his career as battlemage, his physical strength was quite lacking. She planted a kiss upon his lips, and after a brief touch, he finally pushed her off. "Damn you, you impudent litt-Gragh!" He felt a numbing pain and clutched his left hand, and saw the runes branded upon him. "Gregh...what..._what have you done to me, you little cretin!? I demand to know!" _

Soldiering through the burning pain, he raised his staff, and the girl took a step back, her eyes widening. But the elder Breton behind her narrowed his own eyes, and raised some kind of _wand_ at him.

"Stop, Jagar Tharn! You must not raise your hand against your my students!" But he wasn't listening. The damnable pain had grown worse the more he tried to hurt that impudent little brat. Perhaps the rune prevented the direct assualt against the caster. No matter. There were other ways he could put the pink-headed fool out of her misery, later. But for now, his primary focus should be this damnable rune. He would not simply trade one cage for another. Not when he was so close to freedom.

With great reluctance, he lowered his staff. "Very well then...but rest assured, Breton. We will have _words_ about this." He glared with crimson eyes at both the Breton and his pink captor. Just then, though, another voice announced it's presence. "My, Louise, congratulations! You've summoned a...mar-velous familiar!" The new girl praised her aqaintence in a sing-song voice, but something told Jagar that these girls weren't exactly friends. Looking closer, he could see that the new girl was a redguard of...more mature proportions than her classmates. beside her was a short blue-haired girl with odd contraptions on her eyes, with her face buried in a book. Some sort of enchanted jewelry, perhaps?

"Kirche...you..." The newly named Louise glared at the redguard named Kirche. Apparently, the elder Breton had taken his leave after Jagar made no threatening moves for a few moments, and dismissed the other students to return to their lodgings. For now, Jagar would simply observe. Perhaps he could find an Arcane Enchanting altar to examine this damnable rune if he followed them. As the Imperial Battlemage, Jagar had been required to be at least proficient in every aspect of magecraft. "Hmph. I don't intend to do anything." Kirche gazed cooly back at Louise, then winked seductively at Jagar. "For now, at least..." She then took off, and _flew_, of all things. Jagar wasn't too surprised. He had seen many things more impressive than simple _levitation_ in his time, and he doubted the study of magic had stood still until then. Doubtlessly, new developments had made previously unknown magics commonplace in the time he was locked away. He still didn't even know what _era_ he was in.

Absently, he noted that the blue haired girl and many of the other students had taken off as well. Kirche turned in the air and waved at him when she noticed him looking up. "I'll come and greet you formally some other time. See ya!" she shouted down at him. He resisted the urge to roll his blood-red eyes. She could be a useful ally, later. She obviously had some sort of rivalry with his new "master", and that could be of great use to him if she had access to the spell tome that whatever binding spell Louise had used on him came from. He glared once more at her, and she turned in a huff and began to walk off. Perhaps the levitation spell used a lot of magicka, and her summoning and binding ritual had spent her. He would hardly be surprised, given the nature of whom she had conjured.

"Familiar. We're going back too." She called back absently. He couldn't help but think that he could imagine a Nord calling his warhound back to camp with him after a battle in a similar manner. He said nothing, but narrowed his eyes. She would get her comeuppence eventually, but he was a patient man. He did not secure the Imperial Throne, however breifly, by being violently rash and unsubtle. He was a master of Illusion, after all. First he would discover more of this...rune she had placed on him. Then he'd remove it. After that...she would discover who she was _really_ dealing with.


	3. Chapter 3 : Discoveries In The Library

**A/N : **

**Hey, sorry about not posting a new chapter for so long, but I was busy with schoolwork, and I've been working on a few of my other stories. I'll probably post chapters more regularly from now on now that my grades have improved, so rest assured, I'm continuing with this _Simulacrum. _**

**Also, if you like this story, I've been working on a similar crossover for the past few days. You can check it out here : s/9035086/1/The-Dragonborn-Hero**

**Sorry again for the wait, and enjoy the chapter. Your feedback is appreciated.**

* * *

Midnight had come upon the Tristain Academy of Magic. The students and faculty were sound asleep in their beds, and not a soul walked the halls. Except one. Jagar Tharn, former Imperial Battlemage and brief ruler of Tamriel skulked his way through the ancient halls of the academy, determined in his goal. Right now, that meant the gathering of information. He had to play this cleverly, and right now, that meant being patient. No matter how insufferable the _child_ who had branded him with this ridiculous little _slave_ rune was, Jagar was no fool.

He had discovered several important facts since his return to Mundus. First and foremost, Tamriel was now referred to as Halkegenia. He had...procured a map earlier today from one of the students in the dormitory Louise occupied. It had been easy enough, with his mastery of illusion magic, he could easily command a few of the weak magelings here at the academy. Unfortunately, he was unable to do the same with his self-proclaimed "master"

It would appear that the brand on his left hand prevented him from enacting any kind of assualt on her person, magical or otherwise, without his hand erupting into excruciating pain. It burned him to his very core, and even a man of his willpower could not overpower the compulsion of it. That just made his current objective all the more important.

Secondly, the very continents themselves had shifted into a strange shape. It would appear that High Rock now called itself "Tristain", and Hammerfell "Germania", if Kirche von Anhalt Zerbst was anything to go by. It would also appear that Daggerfall had separated itself from the mainland of Tamriel to form an island. He could come to no conclusions as to the remaining countries, and the map was obviously not of the whole of Nirn. Jagar had learned long ago through ancient tomes that the continents of the world tended to shift at a snailish pace throughout the centuries. But...to have changed so much, he should have been gone for countless millenia...

No matter. The important thing was the task at hand. Presently, he was scouring the academy in search of the library. There, he hoped to find and procure knowledge of the history he had missed, and perhaps any newly discovered varieties magic he could look into. Jagar had already learned that the political organization of High Rock had taken to its logical extreme- powerful Breton mages became the elite aristocracy, while those ungifted in the mystic arts were demoted to 2nd class citizens. In other words, not very different from his time, except it was more developed now.

As he rounded the corner, he found his target. The spell of clairvoyance was useful in situations such as these. It may have been a spell even a novice was capable of, but it saved enough time for Jagar to find himself always falling back on it throughout the years. A wave of nostalgia hit him as he entered the library. It reminded him of his days as an apprentice mage-priest in the temples back in Daggerfall. The days of labor and nights of study- with scarce few hours for sleep.

It also appeared that someone agreed with him. He recognized the blue-haired girl from before, sitting all alone at a table, nose buried in a book. Of different color than the one she had been reading earlier, he noted. Of course, she couldn't see him. Complete Invisibility may have been an advanced spell for any mage, but Jagar was not just any mage. Being a master of Illusion was easily his proudest accomplishment, and he had cultivated the skill beyond any other in the Empire. A mere schoolgirl had no chance of detecting his presence under even the most basic spells of illusion no matter what detectors she used- no matter how erudite a student she was.

But, it did present the problem of reading the books and researching properly. All of the tables in the library were in fair view of each other, and he had no desire to skulk in-between the bookcases like a common thief. It would look as if a ghost had been steeling books, and the last thing he wanted was a silver dagger in the back while he was busy with his research. With that in mind, he decided to simply reveal himself to the girl and get on with his business. Seeming to step out of thin air, he appeared. He had revealed himself in this manner many times before in his days at the temple, in order to impress some of the other apprentices. It certainly made an interesting party trick, back in the days when he had concerned himself with such things as sociability.

The first thing she would see would be wisps of black smoke, seeming to spring from the air itself, until it began to fade into different colors that would make up his own form. Various shades and hues would come of the seemingly illuminated smog, until it began to solidify. First one foot, and then a hand. She would see his intimidating black robes, as one with the shadow of the smoke, until it began to dissipate altogether, leaving only him standing there. At about five feet and nine inches in height, his stature was hardly intimidating, even to a little girl such as the one sitting at the table before him. With the way she had been so intently staring at the pages of her tome, he had half expected her to fail to notice him at all. It seemed, though, that his little trick had accomplished it's goal of impressing on her his mastery of the illusive arts.

His eyes were certainly his most striking feature, even here. He had been the illegitimate son of a Dunmer nobleman. He did not know what house he had belonged to, but his prodigious skill in magecraft was almost certainly due to his somewhat unique heritage, at least in part. Hard work had been the most driving factor, of course. He wouldn't let some drunken Telvanni wizard take credit for all of his accomplishments. Still, he had endured a harsh upbringing, which surely contributed to his ethics of work and personal achievement. It had been difficult, being neither man nor mer. Being the lingering shame of his Breton mother's indiscretion. He noticed that his own mother would never touch strong drink, perhaps as a precaution against further ill-advised trysts with foreign delegates.

His eyes of crimson red forever marked him as an outcast in the land of high rock. His Dunmer blood had prevented him from ever becoming truly pale, so his skin had been a kind of dark olive color. He had been accused of being a mongrel amalgamation including redguard in his blood as well before. Although, the man in question was being tortured by himself at the time in regards to the location of a certain rare tome.

Throughout his life, though, he had learned to make use of his unique features. To women, he seemed exotic and forbidden. A useful trait to have when one is hoping to court the lovely and discriminating Barenziah. To men and children, though, his eyes marked him as something else entirely. Children and fools had only seen such colors in the eyes of demons and monsters. He seemed a satyr to them, some unknowable and dangerous monstrosity. That too served his purposes, as they did now. The girl stared, dumbstruck, into the ethereal glow of his blood-colored eyes.

Silence pervaded the library, as it usually did. It last for endless moments, but he would not be the first one to break contact. He had never, in his life, ever been the first to break eye contact. He took perhaps what some would call petty pride in that particular ability. Eventually, after another minute or two of wide-eyed staring, the girl turned away, and tried to return to her book. But Jagar knew that he had ruined her concentration with his sudden and dramatic appearance. He had honestly been hoping that she would flee in terror, or at least be uncomfortable enough with his presence to return to his quarters.

Smirking with satisfaction at his minor and somewhat childish victory, he went on his way through to the vast alleys of shelves, stacked to the brim with books on every subject imaginable. He suppressed a sigh of familiarity he felt coming, as he so clearly remembered the days when he attended a school much like this one. It had been significantly smaller, of course, being a public temple rather than a private institution for the privileged class as this one obviously was. But the feeling was still there, as he remembered late nights of staying up well past curfew to practice endless drills of spells, until his hands had been seared with bits of flame, or his fingers nearly turned black from frostbite. He had not yet discovered his true calling in the school of illusion, and had still been caught in the immature and naive belief that destruction was what a 'real' battlemage practiced. Oh, the youth. The foolishness. He began to frown as uncomfortable memories began to surface along with the fond ones, and savagely suppressed both for now. There would be time for reminiscence later. For now, he had work to do.

For hours yet, he poured through books of every subject. He discovered the histories of these lands, and found himself greatly disturbed. There was no mention of Yokuda, of Akavir, of Oblivion, or even of Nirn itself. They had other names for planets, and the twin moons as well, but nothing was available on the foreign lands across the sea, and no mention at all was made of either Aedra or Daedra. Of course, he had calculated that it would take an immensely long period of time for the continents to shift as they had appeared on the map. But then, he had assumed that it had been the doing of some rogue wizard or Daedra, meddling with the natural forces of Nirn for their own purposes, speeding the process along in some way. But in order to have shifted naturally, the wheel of time would have turned innumerable intervals since his own era. He had no idea that he had been flung so very _far_ into the future. This was...problematic.

Not only were his own accomplishments and reputation most likely forgotten and abandoned by time immemorial, but what little information he already had was very, very out of date. He could presume nothing. He had no idea what these people were like, what their culture was. He had no idea whether there were even Dunmer, or elves of any kind left in Nirn. Suddenly he regretted revealing himself to that girl as he did. What if the elves had been hunted to extinction by the men of Tamriel? No...he had already been seen by that crowd of flying children outside at the ritual site. It was too late now, in any case. He was probably just being paranoid. They hadn't acted towards him with any sort of recognition, except that he resembled a mage. He could rest easy against persecution on that front, at least. This was obviously a school of some kind for the magical arts, and he doubted they would actively oppress their own kind. It was fortunate he had not demonstrated any of the more...controversial aspects of the mystic arts. He had no idea what the current status of Necromancy was in Tamriel. It wish-washed back in forth every age or so, and he was in no mood to press his luck.

He had been disturbed by his initial discoveries, but the rest left him somewhat underwhelmed. Much of the collection was merely a wash of fairy tales, legends, geography, political science, irrelevant history and mundane wars, and what few books on spellcraft they had were simply horrible. All this talk of dots, lines, triangles, and squares. He smirked triumphantly when he finally comprehended their significance, after suppressing a brief shudder. The fools were teaching these children that only a few elements could be manipulated by any given mage, and it was a matter of luck or breeding who became what sort of mage (The texts tended to disagree on that particular point). They effectively limited themselves to only certain aspects of a few of the schools of magic. They could handle basic to intermediate levels of destruction, some novice alteration, and the barebones basics of restoration. For more, they required the aid of powerful magical artifacts.

Jagar found himself sneering at such weakness. As he read on, he discovered the nature of the ritual of the previous morning as well. Apparently, each mage was to conjure a single 'Familiar' that would act as their companion for the rest of their lives when they bound the thing to their will. _A thrall, in other words_, Jagar thought. So they could summon a single creature, no more and no less, permanently and only once. There would be no replacements should misfortune befall the familiar.

So that was his predicament. He had been summoned and bound. Like...like some kind of atronach, or Daedra! The very thought was appalling. These little magelings were taught how to perform a single, master-level conjuration spell, with the help of some widespread arcane ritual, with the stipulation that they could only perform such a spell once, and the school of conjuration would afterwards be forever burned from their souls. Jagar could not help but wince at the prospect. To destroy your ability with an entire school of magic to power a single spell that you were most certainly unready for...He cursed the foolishness of this academy. Not of the students, for they surely did not comprehend what they had done to themselves, but the instructors. He could feel his blood boil at the idea of any of his own instructors making such a grevious error. Conjuration was far and away his second most practiced school of magic. At the height of his power, with the Staff of Chaos in hand, he had been able to summon whole hosts of Daedra, to reanimate entire armies of skeletal warriors to protect his little slice of the Empire.

Come to think on it, he did still command the power of the staff. He inspected the shimmering orb of the staff, more of a scepter given the rank he had attained. It cast his cruel features back into him, a reflection in the perfect crystalline sphere. He smiled wryly at the shred of his soul contained within it. He supposed that had been why it had joined him in the void...After all, had it remained in Nirn, he would still have a connection to the mortal plane. A spiritual foot in the door of Mundus. Fortunately for him, Arkay's gambit of eternal damnation in the void between worlds had failed utterly. Now that he had returned to Mundus, whatever the era, Jagar Tharn would rise again.

Back to the task at hand, he chided himself. It would not due to let his mind wander, and perhaps drift off to sleep here, like this. Such an exposed place would surely see him caught, and perhaps reunited with that pretentious brat who presumed to proclaim herself his "master". Gender-appropriate pronouns aside, he would almost prefer the imperial dungeons. At least they would have treated him with the fear he rightfully deserved as the man who had stolen all of Tamriel, however briefly.

He read on and on and on, and yet still failed to find anything pertaining to the rune emblazoning itself upon his right hand. That certainly wouldn't do. What was more surprising was the complete lack of information on runes available. He realized that they had probably forgotten them. He resisted the urge to cackle madly at these revelations. Taken separately, he had been disheartened by the gradual deterioration of magic during his long absence. Looking at the big picture, though, he could tell that this deterioration could in fact be a tremendous boon for him. He alone understood the secrets of runecraft. He alone could boast mastery of even one school of magic, several in fact. From what he could tell, the greatest of this generation of mages could barely call themselves an expert in any single one of the myriad schools of magic. With his arcane knowledge of enchanting as well, he alone could make scrolls that even those untalented with magic could utilize, and he alone could forge new enchanted artifacts. From what he understood, what few enchantments were left in Tamriel were fought over savagely and relentlessly.

Both gave him incredible advantages compared to these charlatan mages. He couldn't stop the malevolent grin that overtook his features as he put away the last of the books, done reading for the night. He had been careful to leave each book in it's proper place, as was befitting a library. Even one so devoid of _useful_ information as this. Walking out from between the massive bookcases, he found himself alone. The fearful girl had probably retired for the night while he had been reading.

Looking out to the windows, with curtains held open to reveal the beautiful morning sun, he could see why. It would appear that in his zealous quest for information about this new and strange world...he had stayed up all night, reading. He cursed slightly under his breathe, even as he felt his eyes grow heavy and his limbs become clumsy with exhaustion. His usually perfect poise and coordination became a sloppy plodding as he inched his way over to a dark corner, beneath the shadows of huge shelves of books and at the furthest point from the door, Jagar Tharn plopped down on an excruciatingly comfortable chair. It was deep green velvet, and he felt himself sink into it as the energy faded from his body. The adrenaline of the night's excitement dissipated from his brain and he felt himself nodding off. Quickly, with the last of his concentration, he called upon a miniscule amount of the vast stores of magicka that flowed within his soul.

With practiced and instinctual ease of a thousand-thousand repetitions, he molded the shape, the concept, the _idea_ of the creature in his mind. He understood it's very nature, the primal force that drove and held it together. Without a word, he summoned a faded wraith from the Soul Cairn to do his bidding. It's harsh shriek filled the air as it was summoned into the physical realm of Mundus, unused to the corporeal modality. Without a word, he bound the spirit to his will with the nameless spell used by all mages for such purposes of controlling their servants, and the thing's shrieking fell silent.

"Guard my sleep, creature. Do not molest anyone who minds their own affairs in this room, but _kill_ anyone who approaches me." He commanded with half-lidded eyes. The wraith said nothing, but he felt it's urge of acknowledgement through the bond they now shared. For a moment, he mused that this wraith was much to him as he was to the infantile pink-headed witch. With a smirk, he thought, _Unfortunately for her, My control is far greater than hers. She was a fool to think that she could overtake even the slightest portion of my will. Even now, my mind fends off the feeble, but admittedly subtle compulsion provided by her meagre spell_.

He suspected...that she had never faced...a being as powerful as him...

* * *

Professor Jean Colbert teetered through the hallways that morning, in search of his quarry. Louise had barged in on him, in the middle of the night, claiming to be missing her familiar. The poor girl had been on the verge of hysterical tears. Colbert could do little but suppress a sigh and pat her on the head sympathetically, agreeing to search for the lost familiar in the morning.

He had honestly been hoping to get a better look at the odd runes on her familiars hand in any case. It was already fascinating to have summoned a human familiar, or perhaps the man had been elven? His ears and features had seemed to indicate such, but Colbert had always known elves to be fair of skin and hair. This man had been of relatively dark complexion, with hair the color of lavender. He would have to ask Louise to let him have a better look at her familiar, later...

He had suspicions as to his nature, but had withheld any assertions during the man's ranting during the summoning ritual. It was a sacred occasion, and Colbert would not sully a holiday of Brimir, even in the name of magical research.

He had turned much of the east wing upside down, looking. He had no idea how the man had even made it into the school without being seen, but the wards outside of the castle indicated that one unknown being had entered the place, and that no one had left the academy grounds in the last week or so. Given that information, he must have been somewhere inside of the castle.

That in mind, he had been forced to search every inch of the place. So far, he had ruled out the dormitory, the lavatory of both sexes, the classrooms, the cafeteria, the gymnasium, the pools, and the faculty offices. At this moment, he stood outside of the library door. Normally, he would have simply walked in casually before giving the place a thorough search, but for some reason he hesitated as he reached for the doorknob of the right door in the pair that formed the entrance to the library. A chill ran down his spine, as if something unpleasant awaited him on the other side of the door. He felt a deep sense of forboding, and his usually sturdy legs felt weakened behind him. The creak of his joints sent barely detectable jolts up the nerves in his legs, and he felt an uncommon emptiness in his stomach, despite having just stopped for a snack an hour ago.

Gulping deeply, he carefully reached for the knob, against every instinct he had, he opened the door, to find...

nothing.

The other side of the door revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Colbert let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. Wiping the cold sweat that had built up on his forehead, he ventured past the portal and into the room, looking around. He didn't see anyone seated at the tables and...that was odd. Normally, Tabitha would be in here by now, reading. In all the years she had attended the Tristainian Academy of Magic, she had always paid a visit to the library at about 7 ' o' clock sharp, in order to check out the days books and return the ones she had fallen asleep reading the night before. Colbert felt a smile tug at his lips as he though about how she must have been the most studious mage in all of Tristania. She had a bright future ahead of her, he was sure.

He began the tedious task of searching all through the bookcases, as there were sixteen shelves in total, with eight on either side of the library surrounding the clearing that held four long reading tables, with windows at the far side of the library to let in light. The carpet was a simple forest green, and the ceiling a dark red.

Eventually, he came to the final alley between the bookcase and the wall at the far side of the library. He started when he noticed the man he was looking for lounging in the green armchair at the very end of the aisle. He grinned in victory, his task complete. The man appeared to b sleeping.

Excellent! He thought. I'll just go an wake him up, and we can be on our way to young Louise so I can explain what happened yesterday. The man was probably just scared. Perfectly understandable under the circumstances. Colbert himself admitted privately that he would fare little better if he had been suddenly whisked away through magical means to some strange new land, to be the familiar of a young woman who could be...abrasive, at times. Still, he was certain that once he explained everything about how lucky he was to be chosen by Brimir for such a sacred duty, the becloaked man would warm up to the idea. Who knows, perhaps he and Louise would learn to get along now that she didn't have anything to prove to her family. Previously...she had been in danger of losing everything, he wouldn't lie.

But now, she had summoned a familiar, proving herself a mage to everyone, despite her lack of natural talent. He was sure that with study and training, she might eventually outgrow her crippling deficiency. Especially with the encouragement of absolute proof that she was magically gifted by Brimir as a noble of the land. That proof stood before him, and he began to walk over and reach out to wake him up to begin his new adventure as Louise's faithful familiar and companion.

At least, he had been about to, before the clammy, skeletal hand that gripped his shoulder in an iron deathlock from behind caused his entire body to freeze in place. His shoulder felt like it was covered with ice, even beneath his thick robes. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened, but no sound came out and he found himself only distantly aware of the sleeping familiar in front of his eyes. His arm had gone numb, and dropped the spellbook he always carried with him to the floor. He could hear no sound coming from behind him, including a suspicious absence of breath that should accompany any living creature.

His head slowly turned, and he saw the soggy, misshapen thing that gripped his shoulder. he could see the meat slowly peeling away from the fingers, drained of all blood but leaving only a bluish green pallor of a corpse behind the sharpened bones protruding from the fingertips in some cruel parody of claws. It was thin, too thin. He followed the arm all the way up the sleeve of the things shimmering cloak, that seemed to fade in and out of total transparency to pitch darkness. His gaze traveled all the way to the face.

The horrible...horrible face...

He felt the blood drain from his own skin as the caught sight of the thing that held him within it's grasp, the absolute terror preventing even the slightest sound escaping his throat.

It's face was a grotesque ruin, torn flesh and shattered bone, with stretched-thin layers of broken skin holding together the jaw to the mouth, a bottomless abyss lined with broken teeth and sharpened fangs. But it was the eyes that drew his attention, and held him transfixed. They were not empty chasms as the mouth was, but illuminated with a light, a shining, tiny flame within them. It showed him something. Something too horrible to contemplate. This was no beast. No animal. No _mere_ creature.

In those frightening eyes, he could see the a monstrous intelligence. It was not driven by instinct as a beast was, but directed by a maliscious, evil, _hungry_ mind.

The hunger...he could see it. He could almost smell it...as the creature sucked in stale air from the library, he found himself flinching in anticipation as the echo could be heard from within it's gaping, ruined maw.

"SCCCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EAAAAAAAAAEAEAEAAAHHH!"


	4. Chapter 4 : Simulacrum Praeceptora

**A/N: Sorry about the lateness of this chapter, but I've had stuff to work on for school. But you can probably expect another chapter for either this story or The Dragonborn Hero during spring break, maybe both if I have enough time. For now, don't hesitate to read and review, as constructive feedback is always appreciated.**

* * *

He woke up to the sound of screaming. A shrill voice was wailing at the top of it's lungs, and he got up in a flash. He was still in the same dark corner of the library, bathed in shadow by the lack of light. Were there assassins, or more traditional authorities out to arrest him? If so, his faded wraith had obviously performed it's duty if the scream was anything to go by.

Wraiths were powerful enough on their own, but he had not expected it to defeat any large number of foes. That was not it's purpose. It was simply a security measure that ensured a lot of noise before it was overcome by his assailants. After all, even if the enemy somehow managed to kill it without making a sound-a highly unlikely event given the nature of faded wraiths as gruesome and grotesque monstrosities-the wraith would let out a dying wail, just like the one that had awoken him. It was a clever ploy on his part, to appoint a wraith to guard his sleep.

He held his staff high, and absently created a magelight that shot out before him. The green, ethereal glow of the wisp matched the coloring of his staff's crystal orb, and painted the previously dark space between the wall and the bookshelf the color of felldew. Looking around, he saw nothing in the particular aisle of books in front of him, so the fight had most likely taken place in the room proper. He guardedly walked out of the bookshelves.

The sight that greeted him was less than impressive. He saw that much of the library had been destroyed, most likely by fire if the singed books and smoking tables were any indication. Much of the once immaculate suite of furnishings had been reduced to piles of cinders, varying in size. The whole place smelled like soot and burnt wood, and he could hear the labored breathing of the intruder. He saw a man kneeling on the ground, dripping sweat. From fear of from effort exerted in the slaying of his thrall, it made little difference. It was clear that whoever this foolish interloper was, he had clearly been unprepared for the wraith that guarded his sleep. His life had been forfeit the very moment he chose to open the door to the sanctuary of Jagar Tharn.

He was a tall, thin man who wore navy robes with a light-blue trim. A pair of spectacles lay broken upon the floor nearby, their lenses shattered into tiny shards of glass. Their frames were twisted in three different places. The man had olive skin and blue eyes. The top of his head was devoid of hair, and the rest of it neatly trimmed. He panted on the floor there, hands upon his knees. He had yet to notice Jagar's quiet steps upon the blood-colored carpeting.

"You appear to be mostly unharmed." Jagar began condescendingly, with a smug smirk on his face. He looked down his nose at the mage crumpled on the floor. "Most impressive. I would have expected you to die." His smile had faded a little, and now it was only a mild curvature of the lips. "Perhaps I shall rectify that." The menace was audible through his voice, and he could tell the man was unsettled by his eyes. He was speechless, and stared right into his crimson orbs.

"W-Wait..." The winded mage backed away, still crawling backwards on the carpet. He raised one hand before him, hoping to stay the battlemage's wrath. "Th-this has to be some kind of misunderstanding! I just wanted to wake you up, so I could reunite you with your master!"

Jagar Tharn frowned at that unbelievably presumptuous statement. His _master?_ No one who still drew breathe could boast to have _ever_ been the master of Jagar Tharn, he had seen to it personally. He still remembered the expression of abject horror on the face of Sethiete's high priest, right before it melted off of in the face of his enchanted flames.

The man was probably referring to the little child who had conjured him to this plane, and broken her ability to utilize the school of conjuration in the process. He winced at the thought of such an occurence had he been a student here, despite himself. He ought to have killed the miserably misguided professor just for _that_ offence, and _now_ he deigned to affirm that the simpering little pink-headed midget was his _master?_ Simply because she managed to conjure him back to Nirn in what even _he_ believed was a gross misuse of magic? At this point, it was really only a question of how agonizing Jagar should make his demise.

"You presume much for such a pathetic wizard. My faded wraith seems to have presented quite a challenge to you. I wonder how you will fair against a far more powerful opponent." With that, he raised his free hand and made arcane motions with the extended arm, preparing a deadly blizzard to freeze the weakling in a murderous tableau. He planned to smash the ad hoc ice sculpture with his staff after the fact.

"Stop! I don't want to fight you, sir!" Said the mage on the ground, even as he prepared a futile defensive spell of his own. A miniscule ball of fire began to gather in his palms as he extended them before himself. A new determination painted itself across the man's thin face, and Jagar allowed an amused smile to grace his own features. He would relish the horror that would be forever frozen on the man's face even as death's clammy finger's stole the light from his eyes.

But he waited in vain, as death was content to wait a while longer for his prize. Just as Jagar released the blizzard and turned the library into an icebox, the mage still laying before him on the ground released his own ball of fire, of considerable size. Jagar's blood-red eyes narrowed in annoyance and he grit his teeth, as he watched his overwhelming power fail in the face of it's opposing element. The fire melted through the wave of icy death even as it ripped through the air towards Jagar's victim. The mage righted himself, and now stood of equal height to Jagar Tharn, unharmed except for a thin layer of frost on his robes.

The library itself had been completely frozen in a thick sheet of ice. Books had been transformed into heavy blocks of frozen paper, countless tomes ruined forever. The shelves themselves had been encased in ice, and even the carpet they stood on was frosty, except for a large circle surrounding the fire mage, which was instead soaking wet.

"So you specialize in fire, then? No matter, I am fond of it myself." He particularly liked watching as his enemies were melted into pools of boiling human sludge, as the fire mage was about to discover. "You deal it well enough, but let us see how well you fair with a taste of the inferno yourself!" He suddenly threw out a spell of incineration at the fire mage, hoping that this time he would be able to hear him die screaming.

No such fortune. The fire mage was somehow able to just..._dispel_ it. With a wave of his hand, the surge of fiery doom Jagar had cast at him simply dissipated into the freezing air.

"Stop this madness!" A tinge of anger could be seen in the eyes of the once meek mage. He brought up both palms, holding balls of fire within them, dancing, prepared to throw in an instant. Jagar was unimpressed. "Louise has summoned you as her familiar! You must return to her side, to guard and protect her!" The mage had clearly begun to lose his composure. There was a fire in him now that hadn't been apparent, before. It was time to start taking this seriously, Jagar decided.

"It is the will of God and Brimir for you to become Louise's partner! Why do you insist on fighting against the will of the Brimir?! They, they, they must have chosen you for a reason...Why do you hate Louise so much?!" The fiery mage asked, almost pleadingly. Jagar had had enough of this spiel. He was done playing around with this...semi-competent cripple. "Louise _needs_ a familiar...Please, you must listen to me, you are her last-"

_**"Silence!"**_

Jagar's voice boomed through the library, his mastery of illusion permitting him to almost thoughtlessly raise the perceived volume of the sound beyond anything a mere mortal could produce. It had pierced through the pretentious little man's increasingly agitated tirade, and caused him to lose his focus for a moment as he winced at the sound. He had not been deafened or had his eardrums ruptured, as Jagar's thunderous voice was illusory, but it had shattered the concentration required to maintain his fireballs. Only for a moment, as they reappeared not a second later, but a moment had been all Jagar needed.

Taking advantage of his opponents momentary surprise, Jagar pumped magicka into the digits of his fingers, and they lit up in a spectacular display of sparks. The little bolts of mystical lightning arched across the room straight into the chest of the fire mage. His entire body lit up as he started to scream in horrific pain and agony, falling to his knees as his muscles locked up from the electrical discharge coursing through his entire body.

He flashed between normal and transparent, as his body became a conduit for the lightning that dispersed into the ground. A black skeleton could be seen within him every other moment as the deadly current surged through him. The draining effects of electricity on a mage's supply of magicka ensured that he couldn't cast any sort of spell to protect himself, even if he had been able to lift a finger throughout his excruciating ordeal.

"What's the matter, breton?! You were so talkative a moment ago! Nothing to say anymore?!" Jagar taunted the agonizing professor, disregarding the fact that he was probably too busy with the mind-numbing torment of Jagar's sparks.

Jagar had been an imperial battlemage, the court wizard to the Emperor himself, even before he seized the throne for his own purposes. As such, he had vast reserves of magicka far and away beyond that of any ordinary mage. He could keep such an elementary spell as this one for hours if necessary. He found himself grinning smugly at the tortured form of his fallen foe. He could have annihilated the man instantly, of course, had he simply cast even his most basic illusion over him. But he would not. He would not resort to using his strongest school of magic on such a mage as this one...crippled and ignorant of magic, through the misadventures of this little 'Summoning Ritual'. Jagar growled in disgust at the mere thought.

Deciding it was time to be done with the matter, he momentarily surged his magicka at full blast, using the same amount he would use for a spell of Lightning Storm. The effect was instantaneous as the sudden fully-charged arc of sparks reached the writing mage, striking him dead in the forehead.

It was an execution of sorts. Thinking of the crippling ritual these mages employed to summon ridiculous little pets had sullied his mood, and he no longer found his ill-prepared opponent's suffering to be amusing. The surge in the sparks had struck his head and penetrated through his skull, discharging directly into the man's brain. The effect was instantaneous. His synapses were overloaded, his neural pathways basically _fried_ by the sudden upturn in the electrical current. The end result? Brain-death.

As Jagar cut off the flow of magicka from within himself, the arcs abruptly ceased, and the frozen library darkened once more. The sheet of ice that covered the windows refracted what little light there had been in the first place, turning the room into a dim, dark, icy tomb for the foolish professor.

Jagar approached the corpse, and knelt down by it. It was still breathing, actually, so it was no true corpse. Jagar had experimented on many of his victims in order to perfect this particular method of killing.

The victim did not truly die, but rather their brains were wiped blank by the spell. Everything but their bodies' automatic functions had been wiped out as the neural nodes to the parts of the brain that pertained to thought and self-awareness had been blown by the surge of sparks. In effect, the fire mage was now a vegetable, breathing, and doing little else.

_What a hell it must be_, Jagar mused, even as the ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. He had never truly died, so his soul had not passed on to Aetherius. But he was not a prisoner in his own body, either. He could in theory still move if he had the presence of mind to do so...but Jagar had destroyed his mind with his magic. Now, the mage who had dared oppose him and to make such ludicrous demands suffered a fate worse than death. Everything that had made the mage human was stripped away with a single, simple spell of sparks. Jagar was filled with malevolent glee at the accomplishment of destroying his enemy so utterly, even such an unworthy one as this one, that their very personhood was stripped away from them. When the mage's soul finally did pass on, Jagar was certain that it wouldn't be sane...

And now, Jagar would humiliate his enemy further still. The ultimate and most intolerable fate of all was not the spectacular torture he had put the man through, nor was it the total destruction of their mind. The worst fate imaginable for an enemy is to be used by your opponent, even in death, as a tool to further their aims.

It was the fate that would now befall this mage. Jagar brought to bear his considerable reserves of magicka, and set to work on his newest project.

* * *

Louise was exhausted. She had been practically tearing the academy's courts apart looking for her familiar. She had looked nearly everywhere for him. She had even enlisted the help of Professor Colbert to search the other wing of the building to look faster. But...but...

She was a failure. It had been her last chance, and she blew it. She had thought she'd finally gotten a familiar, something that would prove to _everyone_ that she was really a mage. Now, though...she had nothing. Without a familiar, all of the other students would laugh at her just like they always did.

All she had ever wanted was to be accepted by them. To be one of them. To be acknowledged...but to do that, she'd have to prove she really _was_ one of them. Otherwise...they would always treat her like nothing more than a commoner, far beneath their notice. Not even worthy of their scorn.

And her peers were actually the least of her concerns. What truly frightened her...was her family. What would happen, now...?

The laws of Tristania were very clear. No matter how skilled, useful, or well loved they were, a _commoner_ could never belong to a noble house. Without a familiar...and without the ability to do magic...that was all she was. A commoner.

Her mother...she wanted to believe that her mother would understand. That her mother, father, and sisters would all come together and tell her that they loved her no matter what...that she would always be a part of their family. They would stand up to the lords, the aristocrats...and the princess, she...she would come and save her, and tell everyone to acknowledge her as a Valliere...

But she knew that was only a fantasy. A fairy tale. No...she knew exactly how her mother and father would react. Her father wouldn't look at her. His eyes would be downcast, and he would just sigh again and shake his head, letting her...her _mother_ deal with the matter. Louise gulped nervously, and tears began to water her eyes. She could see her mother now, in her mind. She could see her mother's...no, by now, she would just be _Duchess Karine_ to her... She could see the Dutchess' piercing gaze stabbing through her now, leaving her speechless, but unable to look away.

"Louise..." She heard her mother's voice.

_"Get out." _

the Dutchess would stare at her until she complied with her demands. She would be left...abandoned to fend for herself with nothing but the clothes on her back, if the Dutchess was feeling generous.

But maybe...maybe she wouldn't want Louise to be seen. Maybe she wouldn't...

"You will not embarass the Valliere family any further, _girl." _She heard her mother say without pity. There was steel in her voice...and not an ounce of mercy for the little girl that had at one time been her daughter. "Manticore...Manticore, I require you...to dispose of her." Her mother's hollow voice rang out, staring at her dispassionately as she watched her familiar close in with it's jaws bared at the disappointment of the Valliere family. Louise screamed as she awakened from her nightmare. She felt the tears roll down her eyes.

She...she had been asleep. It had been a nightmare. Just a bad dream...But, if it really happened that way, if she really was a...a...a commoner...would her mother really...?

She didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to. She needed to grasp onto that one last shred of hope...maybe she could still find him! Maybe he was still in the academy! She would find him, and beg him to stay with her. All he had to do was stand there, and show his runes...She wouldn't ever ask him to fight for her, or cook or clean or work for her at all. All she wanted was for him to show his runes to her family...to her mother. To anyone, everyone. To show anyone who would look undeniable proof that she really was a member of the Valliere household. So she wouldn't...so that no one could ever take her away from her family. So they wouldn't leave her behind...

Her sobbing was interrupted by a knock on the door of her room. It was just after sunset, but she had already turned out all the lights. She had just wanted to cry, alone and in the dark. But the knocking grew more insistent, as if whoever was on the other side of the door was growing impatient...

Could it be...?

She jumped right out of her bed, and sprinted to the door so quickly that she ran into it face first. She fell down backwards and landed on her bottom, but it only deterred her for a moment. She got right back up, not even bothering to rub the swelling red bump on her forehead. She turned the knob of her door as fast as she could manage, throwing it open to come face to face with...

"P-professor Colbert...?"

In front of her stood Jean Colbert, the proctor of the springtime summoning ritual and her favorite professor. He had never berated her or chastised her for her bludering failures to perform even the simplest of spells. She had always liked him for that. He alone among the teachers had been kind to her, no matter how she disrupted his class with explosions or didn't get along with other students. It was why he had been the natural choice when she needed to enlist the help of someone else to search for her wayward familiar.

"Hello Louise." He said. He had a smile on his face, although it did not reach his eyes. He stared directly into her own. They seemed to bore into her, but she paid it no mind. She needed to know. Anything else could wait. Nothing else mattered.

"D-did you...did you find him...?" Louise squeaked pleadingly, pouring all of the hope she could muster into this last chance.

But her hopes were dashed, crushed and destroyed in a single motion of Professor Colbert's head as he shook it from side to side. "I'm sorry, Louise. I just couldn't find any trace of him. Whoever he is...he must be a _master_ of stealth. He is truly beyond my abilities..." Colbert looked down in what looked like shame. His voice had become dejected.

"N..no. No..." Louise sobbed quietly. The tears had never really stopped coming, but now the poured from her eyes with a vengeance, and her vision grew foggy as her eyes filled with liquid misery. She was done. She was...as good as dead, now. To her schoolmates, to her f...family. To herself.

"Louise..." Colbert layed a comforting hand on her shoulder as she collapsed to the floor in despair. "Don't cry Louise, listen to me."

Those last three words had an effect on her. She wanted to keep trying, she wanted to wallow in her tears, to try and cry out all of the fears in her head. But Colberts words...there was something...hypnotic, about them. She calmed down after a moment, feeling her eyes dry up. She felt...better. How...?

Professor Colbert was smiling at her warmly, but she noticed that he wasn't wearing his glasses. How odd. "Louise...I think that I may have a solution to your problems. That's why I came here at such a late hour. Louise..." Colbert started, and Louise listened with rapt attention. Could Professor Colbert really help her...?

He continued. "...I have decided to allow you to attempt the summoning ritual once again." He finished.

Again? She...she could try again? One last chance? She was...speechless. Colbert had said that it was a sacred ritual, and no 2nd chances would be allowed, the first time...

"B-but, yesterday morning, y-you said..." Colbert raised a hand to forestall her.

"I know what I said, Louise..." He drew up a serious expression. "However, I have decided to make a once-in-a-lifetime exception, just for you, Louise."

An exception...just for her? Truly? "B-but...why? I...I'm just Louise the Zero..." she asked.

"Louise...I don't think you're a failure. I think...that you're a lot stronger than you think you are. You perservere. You always try to get ahead, to improve. I don't think you're a failure. In fact..." He smiled that same calming smile at her, and she felt her fears, her nervousness, her worries, _everything_... just melt away. "I may not have ever told you this...But I always thought of you as my favorite pupil."

She...she couldn't believe her ears. "Really?" She asked timidly, but a small smile graced her lips as she wiped some of the tears away with her sleeves.

"Yes. That's why I believe in you. I don't think you'll succeed this time..." For a moment, a split second, she felt her heart stop at that. But... " I know you can." He continued, with such determination, and conviction...she was starting to believe it too.

* * *

Professor Colbert led her back to the summoning circle, but this time things were different. It was late at night, and the two moons of Halkegenia shone brightly in the starry night sky. But Louise was not looking at the scenery, or the beautiful Tristainian countryside.

She was in the zone. She was wholly focused on her mission. She would save herself. She would keep her family, her life, her status as a noble. She was determined now. Professor Colbert believed in her. He was the smartest teacher in school, and if he said she was a mage, then by Brimir, she was a mage!

"Pentagon of the five elemental powers..." Nothing was happening...not yet...

"Heed my summoning..." No, please. Please work. Please don't abandon me, Brimir...

"And bring forth my familiar!" ...No...no...

_**BSSSsss-ZZsshiinn...!**_

Just as Louise had given up all hope, a violet, ethereal fire burst from the center of the summoning circle. Bluish purple smoke billowed forth, and Louise took a step back. "I...it worked? It worked? It worked!" She cried out in joy and awe as she took in the sight of her new familiar as the smoke cleared and the ethereal flames dissipated.

Before her sat a transparent, ghostly wolf. It was a huge, shimmering creature of sky blue that she could see right through. It approached her...Although the wolf was ghostly, and made no sounds, when she reached out to pet it on it's head, she felt a solid wolf! She did it! She really had a familiar!

And Professor Colbert, he stood there, smiling warmly at the scene of Louise's jubilation. "Professor! You were right! I really did do it!" She wanted to run up to her favorite teacher and give him a great big hug, she was so bursting with happiness and emotions. She made to do so, but Professor Colbert forestalled her once again by raising one hand.

"Just a moment, Louise. Aren't you forgetting something? First, you must finalize the pact between yourself and your new familiar." He explained, and Louise's eyes widened. Of course, how could she forget! So stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Thank goodness for Professor Colbert. If she forgot to finish the ritual, her new familiar would have eventually faded back away...Louise knew that there could be no third chances. Thank Brimir. Thank Brimir for her favorite teacher, saving the day again!

Professor Colbert nodded, a kindly expression on his face as he nodded, encouraging her to continue. As if she needed encouraging!

"Pentagon of the five elemental powers, grant your blessings upon this creature..." She wrapped her arms around the phantom wolf, pulling it into her embrace as she tapped her wand on it's snout. A miniscule spark of magic visibly popped on the spot where she had tapped her wand. "And bind it as my familiar." She finished decisively, and with that placed a short, gentle kiss on the top of her ghostly wolf's face.

After just a moment, she had let go of the wolf and marveled as the wolf lifted it's front right paw off of the ground silently. A faint flame began to shimmer on the paw, just a shade of blue lighter than the wolf's own ghostly form. And...runes, they appeared on it's hand, forever marking it as her familiar. She broke out into a huge grin.

Finally. This proved it! She was a mage! A real, actual mage. She had succeeded at the springtime summoning ritual not once, but twice! This time, though...She clasped her hands tightly around the her wolf in a gentle yet firm hug...she wouldn't let this one go. She wouldn't ever let him out of her sight, or give him cause to leave her. Her eyes filled with tears again...but this time, they were tears of joy.

"P-professor..." Sniff. She called out to him. "Thank you...thank you, so...so much!" She didn't turn to look at him, still focused as she was on her noble and awesome spirit wolf familiar that she would appreciate forever for the rest of her life.

"...Congratulation's, Louise..." He spoke out, slowly, she could hear the smile in his voice, though, and continued to obliviously shed tears of joy, and began to make her way back to the academy as her Spirit Wolf loyally followed her every step. She didn't hear Professor Colbert start following her, but she couldn't focus on that right now. She would find him and thank him properly tomorrow morning. Now, she just wanted to show her familiar to their room and get some rest to show everyone tomorrow, that she, Louise Francoise Le Blanc de La Valliere, was not a Zero.

"...I knew you could do it." Said Professor Colbert from some distance behind her, only audible because of the silence of the windless night. Her cheerful and happy smile widened, and she once again said a silent prayer to Brimir for blessing her with such a wonderful teacher.

What she didn't see...were the ethereal flames that had enveloped Professor Colbert's left hand as he held it behind his back. A set of glowing runes had become momentarily emblazoned on the back of his left hand...and vanished in a flash at the same moment she bounded her spirit wolf familiar.

Her back turned and walking to school, her mental energies exhausted and already some distance away, she could be forgiven for failing to notice Professor Colbert's uncharacteristically sinister grin...


End file.
